"I also, unfortunately, am extremely busy, so I shall not be able to see
the rhododendrons in their full beauty. I had hoped you might be more
fortunate."
Claire stared at a passing motor, of which she saw nothing but a moving
mass; when she turned back it was to find her companion's eyes fixed on
her face, with an expression half guilty, half appealing, altogether
ingratiating. At the sight her lips twitched, and suddenly they were
laughing together with a delicious consciousness of understanding.
"Well!" he cried, "it's true! I mean it! There's no need to stay away
because of me; but as I _am_ here to-day, and it's my last chance, won't
you let me give you tea? If we walk along to Victoria Gate--"
Claire thought with a spasm of longing of the little tables under the
awning; of the pretty animated scene; but no, it might not be. Her
acquaintance with this man was too casual to allow her to accept his
hospitality in a public place.
"Thank you very much, but I think not. I would rather stay here."
"Well, at any rate," he said defiantly, "I've paid for my chair, and you
can't turn me out. Of course, you can move yourself."
"But I don't want to move. I like being here. I'm very glad to see
you. I should like very much to have tea, too. Oh, if you don't
understand I can't explain!" cried poor Claire helplessly; and instantly
the man's expression altered to one of sympathy and contrition.
"I do understand! Don't mind what I say. Naturally it's annoying, but
you're right, I suppose--you're perfectly right. I am glad, at any
rate, that you allow me to talk to you for a few minutes. You are
looking very well!" His eyes took her in in one rapid comprehensive
sweep, and Claire thanked Providence that she had put on her prettiest
dress. "I am glad that you are keeping fit. Did you enjoy your holiday
in Belgium?"
"How did you know I was in Belgium?"
He laughed easily, but ignored the question.
"You have good news of your mother, I hope?"
"Very good. She loves the life, and is very happy and interested, and
my stepfather writes that his friends refuse to believe in the existence
of a grown-up daughter. He is so proud of her youthful looks."
"How much did you tell her about your Christmas holidays?"
"All the nice bits! I don't approve of burdening other people!"
"Evidently not. Then there have been burdens? You've implied that!
Nothing by any chance, in which a man--fairly intelligent, and, in this
instance, keen after work--could possibly be of some use?"
The two pairs of eyes met, gazed, held one another steadily for a long
eloquent moment.
"Yes," said Claire.
Captain Fanshawe bent forward quickly, holding his stick between his
knees. The side of his neck had flushed a dull red colour. For several
moments he did not speak. Claire had a curious feeling that he could
not trust his voice.
"Good!" he said shortly at last. "Now may I hear?"
"I should like very much to ask you some questions about--about a man
whom I think you may know."
The grey eyes came back to her face, keen and surprised.
"Yes! Who is he?"
"A Major Carew. His Christian name is Frank. He belongs to your Club."
"I know the fellow. Yes! What do you want to know about him?"
"Everything, I think; everything you can tell me!"
"You know him personally, then? You've met him somewhere?"
"Yes," Claire answered to the last question, "and I'm anxious--I'm
interested to know more. Do you know his people, or anything about
him?"
"I don't know them personally. I know Carew very slightly. Good
family, I believe. Fine old place in Surrey."
The Elizabethan manor house was true, then! Claire felt relieved, but
not yet satisfied. Her suspicion was so deep-rooted that it was not
easily dispelled. She sat silent for a moment, considering her next
question.
"Is he the eldest son?"
"I believe he is. I've always understood so."
The eldest son of a good family possessing a fine old place! Claire
summoned before her the picture of the coarse florid-faced man who had
tried to flirt with her in the presence of the woman to whom he was
engaged; a man who stooped to borrow money from a girl who worked for
her own living. _What_ excuse could there be for such a man? She drew
her brows together in puzzled fashion, and said slowly--
"Then surely, if he is the heir, he ought to be rich!"
"It doesn't necessarily follow. I should say Carew was not at all
flush. Landed property is an expensive luxury in these days. I've
heard, too, that the father is a bit of a miser. He may not be generous
in the matter of allowance!"
Claire sat staring ahead, buried in thought, and Captain Fanshawe stared
at her in his turn, and wondered once more why this particular girl was
different from every other girl, and why in her presence he felt a
fullness of happiness and content. She was very pretty; but pretty
girls were no novelty in his life; he knew them by the score. It was
not her beauty which attracted him, but a mysterious affinity which made
her seem nearer to him than he had hitherto believed it possible for any
human creature to be. He had recognised this mysterious quality at
their first meeting; he had felt it more strongly at Mrs Willoughby's
"At Home"; six months' absence had not diminished his interest. Just
now, when he had caught sight of her flushed upturned face, his heart
had leapt with a violence which startled him out of his ordinary calm.
Something had happened to him. When he had time he must think the thing
out and discover its meaning. But how did she come to be so uncommonly
interested in Carew? He met Claire's eyes, and she asked falteringly--
"I wish you would tell me what you think of him personally! Do you
think he is--nice?"
"Tell me first what you think yourself."
"Honestly? You won't mind?"
"Not one single little bit! I told you he is a mere acquaintance."
"Then," said Claire deliberately, "I think he is the most horrible,
detestable, insufferable, altogether despicable creature I have ever met
in the whole of my life!"
"What! What! I say, you _are_ down on him!" Captain Fanshawe stared,
beamed with an obvious relief, then hastened to defend an absent man.
"You're wrong, you know; really you're wrong! I don't call Carew the
most attractive fellow you can meet; rather rough manners, don't you
know, but he's all right--Carew's all right. You mustn't judge by
appearances, Miss Gifford. Some of the most decent fellows in the Club
are in his set. Upon my word, I think he is quite a good sort."
Captain Fanshawe waxed the more eloquent as Claire preserved her
expression of incredulous dislike. He looked at her curiously, and
said, "I suppose I mustn't ask--I suppose you couldn't tell me exactly
why you are so interested in Carew?"
"I'm afraid not. No; I'm afraid I can't," Claire said regretfully.
Then suddenly there flashed through her mind a remembrance of the many
tangles and misunderstandings which take place in books for want of a
little sensible out-speaking. She looked into Captain Fanshawe's face
with her pretty dark-lashed eyes and said honestly, "I wanted to know
about him for the sake of--another person? _Nothing_ to do with myself!
I have only met him twice. I hope I shall never meet him again!"
"Thank you," said the man simply, and at the time neither of the two
realised the full significance of those quiet words. It was only on
living over the interview on her return home that Claire remembered and
understood!
For the next quarter of an hour they abandoned the personal note, and
discussed the various topics of the hour. They did not always agree,
and neither was of the type to be easily swayed from a preconceived
opinion, but always they were interested, always they felt a sympathy
for the other view, never once was there a fraction of a pause. They
had so much to say that they could have talked for hours.
Gradually the Park began to empty, the string of motors grew less, the
crowd on the footpath no longer lounged, but walked quickly with a
definite purpose; the green chairs stood in rows without a single
occupant. Claire looked round, realised her isolation, drew an
involuntary sigh, and rose in her turn.
"It's getting late. I must be hurrying home. I go to the Marble Arch
and take a motor-'bus. Please don't let me take you out of your way!"
He looked at her straightly but did not reply, and they paced together
down the broad roadway, past the sunken beds of rhododendrons with the
fountain playing in the centre, towards the archway which seemed to both
so unnecessarily near! Claire thought of the six months which lay
behind, saw before her a vision of months ahead unenlightened by another
meeting, and felt suddenly tired and chill. Captain Fanshawe frowned
and bit at his lower lip.
"I am going away to-morrow. We shall be in camp. In August I am taking
part of my leave to run up to Scotland, but I can always come to town if
I'm needed, or if there's a special inducement. I came up for both the
Willoughbys' `At Homes.'"
"Did you?" Claire said feebly, and fell a-thinking. The inference was
too plain to be misunderstood. The "special inducement" in this
instance had been the hope of meeting herself. Actually it would appear
that he had travelled some distance to ensure this chance, but the
chance had been deliberately denied. Kind Mrs Willoughby would have
welcomed her with open arms; it was Janet who had laid the ban. Janet
was friendly, almost affectionate. As spring progressed she had
repeatedly called at Saint Cuthbert's after afternoon school and carried
Claire off for refreshing country drives. Quite evidently she enjoyed
Claire's society, quite evidently also she preferred to enjoy it when
other visitors were not present. Claire was not offended, for she knew
that there was no taint of snobbishness in this decision; she was just
sorry, and, in a curious fashion, remorseful into the bargain. She did
not argue out the point, but instinctively she felt that Janet, not
herself, was the one to be pitied!
They reached the end of the footpath: in another minute they would be in
the noise and bustle of Oxford Street. Erskine Fanshawe came to an
abrupt halt, faced Claire and cried impulsively--
"Miss Gifford!"
"Yes?"
Claire shrank instinctively. She knew that she was about to be asked a
question which it would be difficult to answer.
Erskine planted his stick on the ground, and stared straight into her
eyes.
"Why are you so determined to give me no chance of meeting you again?"
"I--I'm _not_ determined! I hope we _shall_ meet. Perhaps next
winter--at Mrs Willoughby's."
He laughed grimly.
"But if I were not content to wait for `perhaps next winter--at Mrs
Willoughby's.' ... What then?"
Claire looked at him gravely.
"What would you suggest? I have no home in London, and no relations,
and your mother, Captain Fanshawe, would not introduce me to you when
she had the chance!"
He made a gesture of impatience.
"Oh, my mother is the most charming of women--and the most indiscreet.
She acts always on the impulse of the moment. She introduced you to
Mrs Willoughby, or asked Mrs Willoughby to introduce herself, which
comes to the same thing. Surely that proves that she--she--"
He broke off, finding a difficulty in expressing what he wanted to say;
but Claire understood, and emphatically disagreed. To enlist a friend's
sympathy was a very different thing from running the risk of entangling
the affections of an only son! Obviously, however, she could not
advance this argument, so they stood, the man and the girl, looking at
one another, helpless, irresolute, while the clock opposite ticked
remorselessly on. Then, with an abruptness which lent added weight to
his words, Erskine said boldly--
"I want to meet you again! I am not content to wait upon chance."
Claire did not blush; on the contrary, the colour faded from her cheeks.
Most certainly she also was not content, but she did not waver in her
resolution.
"I'm afraid there's nothing else for it. It's one of the hardships of a
working girl's life that she can't entertain or make plans. It seems
more impossible to me, perhaps, from having lived abroad where
conventions are so strict. English girls have had more freedom. I
don't see what I can do. I'm sorry!"--she held out her hand in
farewell. "I hope some day I _shall_ see you again!"
Quite suddenly Captain Fanshawe's mood seemed to change. The set look
left his face; he smiled--a bright confident smile.
"There's not much fear about that! I shall take very good care that we
do!"